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Growing up I never knew my father, however it never bothered me. I knew my mother loved me very much and always did her best to make me happy. I didn't ask for much, her affection felt plenty for me. I recall when I was younger she attempted to help me get friends but it never worked out in the end. I remember a lot of kids who came over to our home would question our décor. It was always like that, so I never knew it was odd or strange, they and their parents said they've never seen anything like it before. Their tone when commenting on it was always either one of two; interest and complementary or that of question and disgust. Like when someone refers to someone else as a freak. I didn't fully understand why mother always looked uncomfortable or hurt by their words, at least not until middle school. I'm not sure what changed but, something did. I began to understand humans and other things better. I began to,,, feel and sense things.
I always thought it had something to do with the fact my mother was a physic, maybe it was genetic. But, I'm not sure anymore. Mainly because when I did the dna test to find my father, I had no heritage to speak of on my mother's side, it just, started with her. Perhaps one day I'll find the answer.
